


Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms I Cannot Rest

by windandthestars



Series: Never Let Me Go (Were!Fox AU) [2]
Category: Need (Trilogy), Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: kink_bingo, Crossover, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's holding up reasonably well, two days with no leads and she still has more patience than he does, but he can see the strain it was having on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms I Cannot Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover between Sanctuary (an alternate season 4 [some spoilers] and were!Will) and the book 'Need' by Carrie Jones (spoilers!).
> 
> Current Helen/Will, past Helen/John
> 
> Title from 'Howl' by Florence + The Machine
> 
> For a kink_bingo postage stamp: animal play, possession, spanking, and silk, velvet, feathers, and fur, also bondage (wrists)

While he knows they're here, trudging through snow because of Druitt, he's playing along. He's known Magnus almost as long as he can remember, and while he's only really gotten to know her well since they started working together a couple of years ago, he considers himself a good friend. And this week, part of being a good friend was wading through knee high snow in October. If she wanted to pretend they were out here chasing down leads on a couple of missing local kids, two teenage boys, than that was fine with him. They both knew the creatures the locals were blaming, pixies, didn't really exist in the way they were claiming they did. The case had piqued Magnus' interest nonetheless, and while he would rather be home where temperatures were still above freezing even at night, he was glad he was here with her.

She'd had a rough time since Druitt had died when Worth's underground lab had exploded. Neither of them had given Worth much of a second thought, but as sordid as her relationship with Druitt had been, coming to grips with his loss had been harder than she wanted to admit, and the survivors guilt hadn't helped matters much either. Druitt’s, Worth’s and her father’s deaths had come so closely on the heels of Ashley’s and Watson's that he’s not surprised she’s trying to ignore the entire thing.

They were busy for months after the explosion. She’d spent two weeks in the infirmary recovering while he had scrambled to handle things in her absence. Even working as tirelessly as he had it had taken weeks more before he had mopped up the worst of the mess from Hollow Earth, and even longer still before they had the opportunity to go chasing down random sightings, and still longer before she had shown any sign of grieving.

Denial. If she worked hard enough, if she kept busy enough, she was fine, there wasn't any grief to stand in her way, she had accepted it and moved on. He knew that's what she thought, what she would keep telling herself until that first stack of papers scattered across the floor or that first book hit the wall. With him it was always the tears that came first, but with Magnus it was anger, usually self-righteous and always hostile. He wasn't going to be the one to set her off, not today, but he would be the one that was there helping to clean up the inevitable mess.

She's holding up reasonably well, two days with no leads and she still has more patience than he does, but he can see the strain it was having on her. He suspects she hadn't slept at all the night before. That in itself wasn’t so unusual, but she hadn't gotten any work done either and that bothered him. 

He could have let it rest, brushed it off, but he'd woken to find her sitting cross legged on the bed beside him stroking her fingers through his hair, fingertips occasionally slipping along his collarbone and up across his shoulder. He'd feigned sleep, drifting in and out of a blissful haze. Despite the fact that they'd been sleeping together since they'd almost lost each other in Praxis, she's never once been this tender with him, this open.

He has vague memories of waking like this from those first few weeks before he had left the Sanctuary and gone to school, before he had gone back to some semblance of a normal life. He had been eight. Traumatized by the loss of his mother, his only real parent, he had attached himself to Magnus and she’d been fond of him. All of his memories of her from that time, as scattered and vague as they were, are of a gentle smiling woman who laughed easily and was openly affectionate with him, warm. Meeting her all those years later, he had been shocked. He hadn't had much contact with her since he’d left her house, they had never really corresponded but he had saved all of her letters, warm with promise and good humor. He still had them stashed under his bed in a shoebox with childhood trinkets and mementos.

He takes them out from time to time to marvel at them, to wonder how this could be the same woman he saw every day, so careful and calculated. It was all business with her. While she did have a sense of humor, one he delighted in drawing out, she was more reserved, more reticent than he would have ever imagined. She had started easing up on the stodgy proper manners after they had come back from Praxis, but never once had she sat with him and, unsolicited, given or found solace in an act as simple as running her fingers through his hair, even postcoidal bliss hadn't earned him such a gift.

He had basked in the soft movement of her fingers, content to delay their usually early morning start well over an hour. A phone call from the local cops had finally brought an end to her ministrations. The cops thought they might have a lead for them to follow up, someone driving down the highway earlier that morning had spotted something. The cops hadn't been able to find anything but they wanted someone take another look; the department was understaffed for a crisis like this and could use their help. Will knew a line of carefully spun B.S. when he saw one but he didn’t blame them for wanting to make sure he and Magnus stayed out of their way. 

There was a layer of ice half a foot down, a byproduct of a few warm days between the two snowfalls, but the stuff on top is light and fluffy, too airy for the snowshoes they currently had. While Magnus, and her unattainable grace, wasn't having problems, Will constantly found himself slipping down through the snow, the spikes under his toes scraping against the ice, effectively burying his feet. It wasn't difficult to pull his feet free, but the extra effort was beginning to make his legs ache and his thighs burn.

He's slowed down a bit. He's not winded but he could use a bit of a break, not that Magnus has noticed either of these things. She's a hundred paces in front of him and moving steadily farther away. He could call out, have her stop or slow down, but they both have a GPS and a compass and he knows where they are, at least relative to the road. He's not about to get lost and he knows she needs the space. Whatever it is she's running to, it's no more work related than their morning had been. If there had been anything out here they would have found it by now. He would have sensed it, if not with his gut then with his senses; his eyesight’s rather despicable when he's human but he has pretty good ears and his nose isn't half bad either, plus he's really good at picking up on things other people miss, small details, seemingly inconsequential things. It's what had gotten him into psychology. The forensic angle had come later when he was older, but it been this skill as much as that night- as Magnus- that had gotten him started.

"Should we stop for a moment?" Magnus doubles back. Will shakes his head, not to disagree with her but to shake it at himself, scold himself for not noticing that she had turned around sooner. It wasn't like him to get so caught up in thought that he lost awareness of his surroundings. It went against his most basic instincts. It wasn't anxiety or fear that kept him constantly alert, but training that had heightened his more primal inclinations. Magnus had a way of overriding that, of overwhelming his better judgment, his first thought. She made him think. Most days this was a good thing, an asset. Hyper vigilance would wear anyone down, even him, but today he finds it troubling. Worrying about her like this was exactly why he'd been so conflicted at the beginning of their relationship. He was allowed to care about her, but they had a problem when he cared about her enough that it stopped him from being able to keep her safe, when it stopped him from taking care of her.

He shrugs. He's not to the point where he's ready to collapse, although stopping wouldn't hurt, but he doesn't want to hold her up so he lets her make that call.

She studies him, eyes the straps of the pack held snug against his shoulder blades, then nods toward a pair of trees. There's nothing in the immediate area for them to sit on except the snow, but at least here they can sit side by side and lean back against something, actually take a breather for a moment.

He sets his pack in the snow gently, there's nothing in there that's fragile, it's all gear and emergency equipment, but he's big on leave no trace and that includes leaving a pack sized dent in the snow where there hadn't been one before. He's not worried about the wildlife, they make bigger depressions themselves, but he's beginning to get the feeling they shouldn't be out here and he doesn't want to leave behind any more indications of their presence than they already have.

"I thought maybe we could regroup at the hotel this afternoon, go over everything, talk to a couple more people." He suggests as he joins her in the snow. She has her eyes closed. Her head is tipped back, hair catching in the bark as she rests the crown of her head against the tree behind her.

"There's something out here."

"Out here in general or here as in right here because I'm not sure I'm buying that last one."

"You disagree?"

He mimics her posture but leaves his eyes open, watching his sigh condense in the cold air. "Something doesn't feel right I'll give you that, but not in a way that's any help to us. Stumbling into whatever trouble is out here isn't going to help us find those boys."

"There's something going on."

It's not a question so he doesn't respond. He's not about to start an argument, not when she's the one in charge. She's his boss and he respects that even if he doesn't always agree with her.

"It's not the same feeling as I got from the school yesterday." He sighs when it's clear she's not about to say anything in lieu of his response.

"It's snowed a bit since then."

"No," he picks his head up to shake it then sets it back against the tree. "This is different, more-"

"Electrical." She finishes for him and he agrees. There was something about being out here that makes the hairs on his arms, on the back of his neck, standing up straight, not in fear or apprehension, but as if the air in this part of the woods was supercharged with an electric current.

It's not Druitt, he wants to say but he bites his tongue. She had seen him die, they had buried his body, but he knows she's thought him dead a dozen times before. There's an element of disbelief that comes with a set of experiences like that which he knows isn't helping matters any. It’s frustrating though, watching her do this to herself, especially when there are two missing boys out there who could really use their help.

"We'll come back with tech later." He promises. It's the obvious concession, even if it is inconvenient.

Magnus doesn't look convinced. He knows she wants to make this into something bigger than it is but he knows she can't, not without letting him in on her secret, not unless she tells him that she's missing John, and by proxy admitting he could be gone, and he knows she won't do that, not yet. She's still too hopeful about Druitt and the boys. She still thinks they've run off. They're currently east of nowhere and while Bangor's not exactly hopping, at least it's on the map.

He had gotten a different feeling, one that's only solidified the longer he's had time to think about it. There's no way this last boy, Jay, had disappeared, not straight up vanished after track practice like everyone seemed to think, not so close on the heels of the previous disappearance, particularly when there had been a string of similar disappearances fifteen years ago.

"Alright." She agrees but he knows it's because she thinks he's wimping out. With all the desk duty he's been pulling while she'd been away globe trotting she thinks he's out of practice, fatigued. They have a long hike back to the car so he can't say he's really disappointed even if the assumption is a bit aggravating. She'd obviously been paying less attention to him than he had thought.

 

Back at the car, the first thing he does is take a huge bite of the sandwich he had stashed in the glove box. It's half frozen but he's not in the mood to be picky. His calf had cramped up part way back and he's cranky. If nothing else, the sandwich saves him from having to make conversation while the car warmed up, the defroster blowing frigid air onto his exposed fingers. 

They hadn't talked on the walk back. Magnus had still been alert, looking for something, and he'd been more concerned with not falling on his face, so he's not sure why he feels like she wants to say something, but he needs a moment before she does.

"I have a power bar." She pulls her pack up between the two seats, resting it on the center console before he can refuse, and digs through it. "It's cranberry, not your favorite." She frowns but holds it out to him and he takes it, unzipping the pocket on the front of his parka to slip it inside.

"Thanks."

"Will?" He hums through another large bite and she shakes her head, letting it drop. "How about we stop at that diner we saw on the way out here?"

He shrugs and she shifts the car into drive. He shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth and switches the defrost to heat.

 

She’s been in a mood since they had left the diner. After they finished eating he wanted to stop back at the hotel; he was still half-frozen and wanted a second look at his notes. Magnus had other ideas, however, and they ended up back at the high school. It was the middle of the day so he’s not quite sure why she looks so perturbed by the kids milling around, but he leaves her to her own devices and wanders back to sports fields where they’d spent most of their time the day before.

It hadn’t snowed much here in the lower elevations, and with the sun out, the ground is soggy underfoot. His shoes squeak and squelch as he walks. The sounds is loud enough to be distracting and he almost misses it at first, the sound of hushed whispering. When he and Magnus had talked to the principal, they’d been told students were no longer allowed outside during their lunch breaks.

Will’s expecting a bunch of rebels. What that looks like out here, he’s not exactly sure, but he’s surprised when he finds two girls standing around the corner, one leaning against the building’s exterior wall.

“Is,” one of the girls hisses when she spots him and they fall silent, the shorter of the two turning toward him as he approaches. She smiles at him, while the other, the one he recognizes from yesterday frowns.

“Zara, right?” He asks, stopping close enough to them that they can talk without being overheard. Whatever they’re doing out here, he doesn’t want to get them in trouble.

“Yeah.” She nods slightly, ponytail swinging behind her and the shorter blonde pipes in. 

“I’m Issie by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you Issie.” He returns her smile as Zara continues.

“You’re the one who was asking about Jay yesterday.”

“We’re hoping to help bring him home.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“He looks like one though.” Issie interrupts and Zara sighs.

“I used to be a cop.” Will’s confession seems to earn him points with Issie who’s face lights up. Zara on the other hand is beginning to look annoyed. Whatever he had interrupted was important and while he doesn’t want to antagonize them, there’s something going on here and he wants to know what it is. It’s clear they know something they’re not saying and while they are teenagers and it could be nothing, he’s not willing to take that risk. 

It’s not just his gut though, that has him holding his ground, but something else, a smell. They smell like weres, but more than that there’s something else. He’d caught a whiff of it yesterday under the salty sting of sweat. It’s more pronounced today, but he still can’t make out what it is. It’s not coming from these two, although they are carrying it, the smell clinging to their clothes, strands of their hair. It’s something sour like the gritty smell of damp earth or mildew after a rain.

“I work for a private company now. We specialize in cases the cops can’t solve. Weird stuff, werewolves and vampires, that sort of thing.” He says it like he’s joking, but neither of the girls react. Zara looks as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, bored, and Issie, Will tamps down a smile, Issie looks relieved.

“Weird stuff like pixies?” She asks in a rush and Zara growls.

“Is!”

“What? Maybe he can help.”

“He could be one of them.”

“Talk dark and creepy is one of them. Will’s too cute. Besides, you said Nick said he couldn’t be. You said he thought he could-“ Issie drops off when Zara glares at her.

“Are you a were?” Issie whispers.

“Is.” Zara’s back to hissing, but Issie’s ignoring her, waiting for Will’s answer. “Nick is going to kill you, Is.” 

Will nods and has to stop himself from laughing when Issie throws her arms around him, toes pressed against his as she stretches up to reach. He leans down a bit so she can bounce where she stands before releasing him. She’s grinning, excited, and while Zara’s still looking pissed, there’s something more relaxed about her too,.

He’s just played his hand, trusted two girls, one of whom is rapidly learning to despise him, but he’s not concerned with the fallout, not right now. Magnus wouldn’t be pleased, but he’d spent the drive back to town tip toeing around her and it still hadn’t done anything to endear him to her.

These two smell like weres, weres and that smell he can’t seem to identify. It could be pixie, he realizes as Zara takes a step forward. “You have that look again.”

“I’m confused.” He confesses, reaching up to rub a hand over his face. “You smell like weres, but you aren’t.” He finishes firmly when Issie begins to look a bit eager. “And you smell like pixie.” 

He’s not sure about that but by the way Issie throws a glance back to Zara he knows he’s on the right track. “Pixies and weres don’t exactly get along.”

“Tell me about it.” Zara rolls her eyes and Will sighs to himself, glad she’s beginning to trust him. “One broke into my house last night looking for my boyfriend. He’s a werewolf.”

While it’s a plausible explanation, Will knows it’s not the whole truth. Zara’s holding something back and while he doesn’t blame her, it is frustrating. He can’t help them or the two boys if he doesn’t know what’s really going on and there’s no way for him to find out, at least not that he’s found. There’s no indication that they’re running out of time, but the longer he and Magnus stay here, the more unsettled he feels. Even so, he’s going to have to settle for what Zara and Issie are willing to tell him. For all he knows they don’t know much, although he doubts that.

“Have you two heard anything about Jay?”

“Just that the pixies took him.” Zara replies before Issie can get a word in edge wise.

“Any idea where?”

“I wish.” Issie’s face falls. “He was a nice kid you know.”

“Hopefully we can bring him home soon.”

“Yeah.” Issie sounds wistful before perking up. “Can I ask you a question?” Will shrugs and Issie continues. “What kind of were are you? I’m allowed to ask that right? You don’t have rules about that where you come from do they? Where do you come from?”

“I’m a fox,” it comes out sounding like it was no big deal, like he talked about it all the time, despite the fact he hardly mentioned it even inside the Sanctuary. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable talking about it, summer vacations in the Network as a kid had done away with that. He didn’t mind, but it never came up and even when it did he hardly found his were identity relevant. Now though, for once, he finds it is. 

It’s a nice change, finally having someone around who might understand, even if they haven’t reached their sixteenth birthday yet. It makes him glad he’s the one who had found the two girls and not Magnus. It’s frustrating being this close to more information than they’ve had since they arrived, but he’s not about to mess this up by pushing too hard. Issie might trust him already but Zara was still skeptical. She struck Will as the independent type; she wasn’t about to let Will in on whatever was going on, especially not if he was going to mess it up. “I grew up on the West Coast in a sleepy little town in Oregon. Bedford reminds me of it actually. I live outside of Seattle now. And no there aren’t any rules. You’re welcome to ask whatever you’d like and I’ll try and answer as best I can.”

“Do foxes eat bunnies?” Zara laughs and Issie frowns at her. “I’m serious.”

“I know, Is.” Zara steps forward to jostle her friend’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Will confesses, “but I don’t. Does that count?”

Issie considers for a moment and then nods. “You seem cool. I won’t hold the bunnies against you.”

“Thanks.” Will chuckles, digging around in the pocket of his coat for a business card before holding it out to Issie. “If you hear anything else. If you need help with anything. If the pixie comes back.” He directs the last comment toward Zara. “Call me, please.”

“Ok.” Issie tucks the card into her pocket and regards him. “You’re not going to bust us are you? We’re not supposed to be out here.”

“No.” Will’s not exactly happy about leaving them out here alone, but he can’t exactly drag them down to the principal’s office. He needs their help. “But be careful alright?”

They both nod, Issie more convincingly than Zara and Will heads inside. He’s hoping since he kind of left Issie hanging, bubbling over with questions, that he’ll here from her tonight if not first thing tomorrow, and if not, Magnus will be happy to finally have some confirmation that her outlandish theory, at least her official one, had some truth in it.

 

Magnus is happy to see him. She hasn’t found out anything and it’s more than obvious that she’s been trying to extract herself from the less than informative conversation she’s having with the rambling teacher she had intended to interview.

“Bloody Spanish the entire time.” She groans as soon as they clear the last set of doors and step into the parking lot.

He winces, side stepping the bit of slush their rental had tracked in and holds out the keys. He had stolen them off her earlier, intending to drive back to the hotel and spare himself another “scenic” detour, but she’s edgy and the last thing he wants is to get in a fight on the highway. While he has gotten more practice driving through the snow, or slush as it was, since moving back to Old City, it’s not something he relishes, particularly when there are bigger issues at hand.

He guides her slowly through what he’s learned, choosing his words carefully. He doesn’t want to get her hopes up but he also doesn’t want to stomp on whatever progress they have made. He also doesn’t want to let it slip that he had confided in Issie. Normally Magnus would be pleased with this, but they still don’t know what they’ve walked into with this case, and she’s more concerned about the energy readings they should have taken than his social life.

By the time they reach the hotel, much to Magnus’ chagrin, the forecast is calling for snow. There’s not much they can do now but spend the rest of the day rehashing what they already know. Will’s hoping to order in before the weather takes a turn for the worst, but that turns out to be problematic in a town this size.

It takes him twenty minutes and the promise of a sizable tip to talk someone into driving over to deliver his bounty. As long as the power holds out, he’ll have the mini fridge beside the tv stocked up with enough food to last through the day tomorrow. He could go over and pick it up himself, it’s only a couple of blocks and even walking it wouldn’t be too bad, but the snow is already beginning to fall and with Magnus having absconded to the shower he would rather take the time to himself.

Sprawled out on the bed, he loses track of time, startling when Magnus emerges from the bathroom to answer the pounding at the door. He takes the food, sorting it to prioritize consumption as Magnus hands the kid the wad of cash he’d left on the dresser.

“Someone’s worked up an appetite.” She teases retying the sash of the silk robe she’s wearing. Will loves this robe in particular; its dark green is a color conspicuously absent from the rest of her wardrobe, its fine cream detail the same pale color as her skin. It’s not a robe she wears around the Sanctuary or even on trips with the others. Instead, it seems to be something that’s distinctly his and he’s always wondered what it is about him that makes her think of such a deep brooding green.

“I was planning on sharing.” He returns with a smile and she appraises the food he’s left out carefully, but with obvious disinterest.

“Later.” She offers and he shrugs, boxing up what he’s not planning on eating before settling down at the head of the bed with his laptop.

There’s not a whole lot of room for them to work in. They only have the one bed and the table with a pair of chairs they had pulled from the corner. The table’s not quite large enough to make a suitable desk, not with the stacks of papers and books Magnus had brought with her, so she takes a seat on the edge of the bed and spreads her work out over the three surfaces.

Will’s scrolling aimlessly through a set of seemingly random google searches. He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but he has a feeling whatever it is, he’s closer to it than he knows. Magnus on the other hand has gone from paging through books, to files, and then back to the books. She’s currently flipping tersely through various chapters split between two volumes.

“There’s nothing here to explain,” she pauses to set one of the stacks files behind her, beside his feet. “To explain the static field we felt this morning. There’s been no further sightings, no new leads, no-“ Whatever she finishes with is lost behind the clamor as the table tips and lands with a crack on the floor, books spilling out with heavy thumps, until spines strained and pages bent, the decimated towers settle. For a moment, he thinks the stacks of files, the carefully stapled pages and the hasty notes, had been spared, but those too are dashed to the floor.

“Better?” He asks quietly but firmly, taking her display as preamble to drop the calm and cautious routine.

“No.” It sounds more sullen than outwardly angry. 

He watches the silk pool and ripple across her shoulders as her fingers rush against the fabric smoothed over her thighs. “Druitt’s not a pixie.” Will voices the conclusion he knows she’s just reached. Druitt’s not here. He’s not the one in the police reports. He’s not the one kidnapping teenage boys. Whatever is going on here has nothing to do with John Druitt.

He draws a leg up toward his body, pulling his foot away from her, not to move away but to allow himself to lean closer. She growls low in the back of her throat, equal parts warning and disappointment.

He responds in kind, stalking on hands and knees down the bed until he can wrap his arms around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her body. She welcomes his assault. Tipping her head to the side, she opens up the expanse of her neck to his attack. Quick sharp nips, flashes of his teeth against her skin, leave faint bruises she’ll cover over in the morning.

She doesn’t fight him when he bites more firmly against the skin stretched over her collarbone despite the fact he can feel, as much as see, her wince. She’s limp, allowing. She’s not so much willing pray as she is his equal. She concedes now because he’s already made his concession; as it is, she’ll be fighting again in due time.

This is his mark, this time. It’s not the spot that will ache- despite the fact her skin will blossom deep black, purple, and yellow- but the spot that she’ll finger gently, fingertips brushing lightly against her skin, as she studies it in the mirror, smiling faintly. She’ll leave it peaking out, the slightest hint, a shadow and a bruise, from beneath the neckline of every shirt: a tease, a hint, and a reminder.

When he’s finished, tongue tracing the bruise that’s already showing, he smiles and tips his face into the join between her neck and her shoulder. There’s the faintest hint of her perfume left there from before her shower and he breathes it in, lets himself get dizzy off the smell, the faintest whiff of salt and sweat that builds as her anticipation rises.

“Please,” she whispers and he laughs because despite the fact there aren’t any rules, she’s not supposed to ask.

“Alright,” he sighs, sliding to the edge of the bed to sit beside her.

She swallows, untying the sash of her robe, pulling it through a pair of thin loops until it sits coiled in her hands. She looks over at him, expectant as he stares back. She’s always hopeful that this time won’t be like the time before; forever the pragmatist, in this she is an optimist.

While this time, at least there’s the headboard to tie her to, there’s nothing immediately apparent with which to hit her, and as it is, he prefers his hands for this: the feeling of her skin warming to his touch, the direct connection between his effort and her response. His hand stings as her ass hurts.

He does concede to binding her wrists, feeding her hope like he had that morning- watching her navigate the same conversation, now internal, time and again.

She lies over his lap without protest and almost no prodding, despite the rapid skipping of her heart beneath her ribs, which are pressed against the side of his calf. He bunches up the expanse of smooth fabric before him, working it into the creases of his palm, into his lifeline.

He’ll have her wear the robe later when they have sex. She’ll laugh, perhaps finding the request a bit odd, but leave it on, pushed open in the front as he presses against her from behind, desperate to feel the silk slide between them. It seems excessive, his fascination, his persistence, but this is the one thing she owns, the only thing of hers, where even the faintest trace of him never lingers. It smells of fresh air and Magnus, nothing more and there’s a part of him that won’t accept that.

For now he’s more concerned with other things, but still he lingers, wrinkling the fabric within the confines of his fist until she squirms across his lap.

Two swats, soft, testing, and she’s stilled, two more and she shifts, another and her wrists twist testing the confines of their binding, one more and she squirms.

“Hold still.”

It’s rapid fire pairs now, two and then two, two on one side than the other, two on the same side, in the same spot. His hand is warm now; her skin is flushed pink. 

She squirms. Again he tells her to hold still and it continues, the repeated request to hold still, to do as she’s told. She squirms not to disobey him, but because she always has. There’s no shame in pulling away, only in admitting that you have. Secrets kept are better than secrets told and while he knows there’s nothing there but fear, fear and loss, he doesn’t stop.

Her struggles intensify, then lessen, and he knows if it weren’t for her bound wrists he would have scratches up and down the side of his leg. His hand tingles and then aches and he stops, red palm against red ass, he soothes her angry skin as she draws back half shed tears with sharp inhales.

“Bastard.” She hisses and then laughs, still bent over his knee.

“Stubborn,” he snickers before gathering her up in his arms and holding her close, her breath warm and even against his ear.

“You allowed me to drag you through the woods for hours.”

“Bloody idiot?” Will volunteers of himself and she laughs again.

“Thank you.”

“Remind me you said that when we head back out there in the morning.”

“Only if you feed me breakfast first.”

“Who said anything about breakfast? I haven’t tired you out yet have I?”

“You’re always telling me how wonderful sleep is.”

“I know something even better.”

“Is that so?” They both laugh almost drunk on the sound before she pulls back. “I’m serious, Will.”

“About breakfast or your gratitude?”

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. “I suppose we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

 

When he wakes the next morning there’s a plate of still warm pancakes and a glass of orange juice on the bedside table next to a note. _The weatherman called for a snow day. I’m down by the pool. M. PS- I turned off your phone. You may want to check your messages._

He thumbs through his texts, a couple of notes from Kate, Henry asking for their ETA back in Old City, and a bunch of weather warnings the National Weather Service hadn’t seen fit to send out the day before. His voicemail is mostly the same until he gets to the message from Issie. She’s amped up but not distressed. The message is short. They had found Jay, the second kidnap victim, the first was assumed dead. The mess with the pixies had been resolved _Oh, and Will? Thanks for your offer to help._

Will sets his phone back on the table, next to the untouched pancakes and the empty glass and falls back onto his pillows. Magnus could enjoy her time by the pool, he was going back to sleep, it was, after all, a snow day.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [pockets full of stones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/551453) by [cerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie)




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